A Hemiola of the Mind

Author’s Note: As I finished the novella, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Stevenson, I was amazed by the constant struggle within Jekyll’s mind as he fought between good and evil. He discovered, “With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two” (104). I was intrigued by the motif of duality, and how each of us has two sides. I believe that although we all have both evil and good inside of us, we also have a choice between which personality we choose to pursue. I was also inspired by the quote, “Terror woke up in my breast as sudden and startling as the crash of cymbals” (112), because I love music analogies. I decided to write a piece in the view of Jekyll but to use music as a symbol of the struggle that goes on in his mind. (The word “hemiola”, which I used below, is the contrast between 2 and 3 in music).

I hear sounds in my ears; some may call these extraordinary auditory creations by the simple name of “thoughts”, but I believe that to be too stringent of a name. I like to believe that my mind is not a mechanical machine operating on austere instructions, but rather an orchestra – where every “thought” is an intricately woven symphony: coquetry comprised of crescendos and swells. For most, this majestic music moves methodically throughout the soul – the major chords always flow smoothly over the crunchy, weak minor chords. I, however, am more perceptive to this underlying bitterness of sound and it is impossible to erase it from my mind.

This orchestra plays emulously to the other, mocking rhythms and dynamics, but failing to copy the grand tone of the previous song. The sound that projects from the fingertips of these musicians rings odiously through the ears of a passels of citizens, scratching the eardrum with its callous tenor and striking pitch, but I take pleasure in this fresh and strange music. It encompasses a completely different sound than has ever pounded in my ears before – it is distinctive, it is sinister.

After I first noticed this malicious melody, I began to listen for it eagerly and block out the other, more monotonous band, opening my ears only for the menacing pulse of tedious trombones and booming bass drums. I craved, still crave, the music of the latter, but the first and second orchestras did not cope well with the thought of sharing the stage of my mind. They fight furiously against one another, increasing tempos and changing piano to forte – creating an immense hemiola that pounds through my head with unimaginable pain. There is not enough room for two conductors in my soul – it has become apparent that I must choose between one or the other. But now that the malevolent orchestra has increased their volume, I no longer have control over which music I wish to reverberate through my ears. As the musicians continue to attempt to outplay each other, the harmonies that once provided me with joy and bliss now split my ears and mind to pieces. All too ready for the quiet of peace and clarity, I decide to end the clashing concert. With a swift flick of my wrist, I cut off the band, and for the first time in years, I breathe in the silence of serenity.

Brass Knocker

Author’s Note: While reading the chapter, “Dr. Lanyon’s Narrative” in the novel Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde, I was appalled by the sense of responsibility that society feels they have to the world. Jekyll asks Dr. Lanyon for a favor, one that could possibly save his life, even though it puts Lanyon in danger. Although he could back out, Lanyon chooses to help Jekyl and decides, “an appeal so worded could not be set aside without a grave responsibility”(96). It made me wonder if those that always help their friends are truly strong people, or just afraid of feeling guilty. This poem is trying to show that sometimes obligation rids us of our free will. I tried using iambic pentameter, so if any of the lines seem off, please give me suggestions on how to fix the wording. Thanks.

Phone rings, sharp prongs pierce ears of those that hear

Eyes shift; timid yet brave, livid yet scared

Exhaust says stay, yet mind floods waves of fear

That move the hand to act, conscience ensnared.

***

Favors are asked by friends and foes alike

Instinct blurts acceptance without reason

The mind restrains its own instinct to strike

And it’s abused season after season

***

The line is drawn at sin and its despair

To shield the ever feeble ego, alas

The soul suffocates from the guilt filled air

And must answer to each knock of the brass

***

When responsibility comes knocking

Is it the strong or weak that are flocking?

The Waiting Room

Author’s Note: While reading chapters 5,6 and 7 of the novel The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Stevenson, I was intrigued by the constant struggle between curiosity and disregard. Especially inspiring was this quote: “It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it may be doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson desired the society of his surviving friend with the same eagerness” (59). I wrote a short story in response to this motif of curiosity and what effects it can have on us in our future.

I

Hovering uncomfortably on the jagged edge of a molded plastic chair, the man was alone with his thoughts – alone to confront the curiosities of his mind. With nothing so much distracting as aging magazines, the waiting room was an ideal place to think; to think about the future; the future that seemed to narrow and suffocate with every click of the clock. His life was on hold – a constant, nauseating cycle of sitting and fidgeting, questioning and asking – he was stuck in one of those dreadful, slow-motion movies, trudging throughout his life as if the air was suddenly full of molasses.

White-washed walls with colorless lamps and art were his new companions; although faithful and constant, his new friends could hardly understand the cloudy and constant confusion congesting his mind. What was wrong with him, he could not say, for the majority of his time was spent in the waiting room. As much as the doctors claimed to want to help him, they spent little time explaining and clarifying the disease that was nibbling away pieces of him from the inside out.

Connecting and disconnecting, his mind operated as a switch board, frantically shifting from blank to blinking. Clenching and relaxing, his hands fought between the numbness of innocence and the scathing pain of curiosity. Glazing and intensifying, his eyes fluctuated between the focus of thinking to the cloudiness of disregarding.

Finally, after minutes, hours and days wasted while waiting in the waiting room, the man decided to succumb to his inquisitiveness, to give way to his thoughtful mind. At once, the wheels began turning and spinning to no end, full of future possibilities and horrors.

II

Six days later, the man died of an all-consuming brain tumor – a disease that had engulfed his body and soul. For some, this was no surprise. After all, curiosity killed the cat.